The Man who Sold the World
by Dracones
Summary: My first fic on this site! Songfic of David Bowie's The Man who Sold the World. Set a thousand years after Galbatorix. Eragon's been missing for six centries out of that millenia, and a lot has changed.


**The Man who Sold the World. Songfic.**

**By Dracones. (The same Dracones as on Inheritance Forums.)**

Arya strode through the home of the Riders, of which she was now the leader. After the tragic death of Saphira, many years ago, Eragon had vanished, never to be seen again. She had left Alagaesia, to the home of the Riders, as was necessary for the most experienced Rider to do. Murtagh had returned, married Nasuada, and after a relatively short period of time, fifty years or so out of the thousand that had passed since Galbatorix's downfall, had turned into a recluse again, heading north with Thorn. He had not been seen since.

Four hundred years after that, came Saphira's loss. Throughout all that time, Arya had been held back by the Lords, unable to travel and visit Eragon, and although Saphira's death had been the trigger for his departure, parchments Arya had found in his deserted rooms indicated that his frustration and annoyance had a far deeper cause than that, rooted a lot further back in time.

Her absence.

That fact had been her own frustrating point for decades, working its way within her until it had changed her True Name several times over as she remained in the halls of the Riders for the past six hundred years. Had she visited, just once, he might not have abandoned everyone, and likely died in the wilderness, from the impeding age that would have grown again upon Saphira's death. The thought troubled her greatly, for it meant that she was partly the cause of his death.

As she walked along, a young Rider contacted her mentally, telling her that there was a stranger coming up to visit her, and he had quite literally shown himself in. The man looked wild, he said, powerful, and he had known that he would be unable to defeat him. The man, he said, carried both a sword and an air of strength. She opened a door to her right and began to descend down to the level where the young Rider had said the man was.

_We passed upon the stair,_

_We spoke of was and when,_

_Although I was not there,_

_He said I was his friend,_

_Which came as some surprise, I spoke into his eyes,_

"_I thought you died alone, a long long time ago,"_

The man was ragged, and rough, but he did not look old, and he had the appearance of an elf, and when he spoke, it was smooth and elegant, and she recognised it, just as she began to recognise him.

"_Oh no,_

_Not me,_

_I never lost control,_

_You're face, to face,_

_With the Man who Sold the World."_

On a sudden instinct, she jumped forwards and hugged him, knowing that Eragon was back and himself. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, and he whispered quietly, "I will not leave you again." She nodded, tearful, releasing all her emotions which had built up for years.

"And I will not leave you, Eragon. I should never have done so." They held each other for a long time, just taking comfort in each other's presence, as they had not done for a thousand years, since that sorrowful day on the _Talita_.

Then, he said, "I would like to return to Alagaesia itself, as I have not seen it in many years either, though it could not equal the sight of you." She smiled at the comment, as she would never have done previously, and agreed, happy to return to her home and have her greatest friend beside her once again in the same day.

_I laughed and shook his hand,_

_And made my way back home,_

"_I searched for form and land,_

_For years and years I roamed,"_

And that was all he would say as to where he had been, what he had done, and what he had seen. And she left an elder Rider in command, mounted Firnen, and pulled him up behind her. He held her gently, and Firnen rose into the air.

They flew over the stunning landscape for days, Arya explaining everything that had happened to the Riders when he was away, and that Alagaesia itself had been majorly changed, in population, size, and knowledge, though she had not seen it for herself, leaving most of the knowledge and guidance of the Riders unnecessary. But they kept to their teachings and traditions, guarding Alagaesia as best they could.

_I gazed a gazely stare,_

_At all the millions here,_

_We must have died alone,_

_A long long time ago._

Arya and Eragon arrived at what had been the Ilirea they recognised, formerly Uru'baen, but it had been changed drastically. Massive structures of metal and glass towered over the older buildings, and when they landed in a large courtyard, men wearing green clothes ran up to them, pointing pathetic attempts at metal clubs at them, which were wider at the handle than the end. She turned to Eragon, puzzled; none of her Riders had reported such a drastic change. But then she realised that they had reported small changes as they came, and not reported on the actual scale of change at the end, and asked him a question.

"What's happened to lead to this? Will they still respect us as the Riders if they're pointing weapons, though bad ones, at us?" He replied calmly, partially repeating his words from before.

"_Who knows? Not me,_

_We never lost control,_

_You're face, to face,_

_With the Man who Sold the World."_

**This is a Songfic of David Bowie's The Man who Sold the World. I thought it could apply to either Eragon or Galbatorix from the Inheritance world, and went with the former. So, here, my very first Songfic! **


End file.
